


Engagement

by purebredmutt



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hope, Longing, One-Shot, Post-Past Present Future, Sad, TIVA - Freeform, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purebredmutt/pseuds/purebredmutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is in response to a prompt from noimnotgoingwithoutyou on tumblr.<br/>Post-Past, Present, and Future<br/>Ziva returns to the US for a ceremonious occasion with an old friend, only to run into the one man she dreads meeting again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> I edited the format so it would be easier to read C: Enjoy!

What a way to start a life, Ziva thought to herself, trying to blow the sparkly confetti off her hand to no avail. The bride was beautiful and the groom stunning. The ceremony was sweet and heartfelt. The kiss seemed too perfect to be real.

Ziva sighed, folding her still-sparkly hands in the lap of her simple floor-length black dress. It was too perfect - at least for someone like her. A familiar sadness tugged at her heart. Weddings are for the deserving.

“Ziva, Metukah, do you want something to drink?” Adam’s warm brown gaze met hers as he walked toward her with a glass of wine. He smiled, warmth practically oozing from him.

“Lo, todah, Adam.” Ziva granted him a small smile; she was grateful for his help in returning to the US to attend this ceremonious event, but wished he hadn’t insisted on accompanying her. It was hard enough to make herself come and smile for the couple’s happiness without someone there specifically watching her, gauging her reaction, waiting for her to break. Observing her like…

Ziva quickly scanned the crowd, willing herself not to finish that thought. Everyone was dancing now, each couple happily swaying to the song whispering through the speakers.

Adam stood to the side, observing her turmoil before sitting beside her still holding the glass. He placed his hand on top of hers in her lap.

“Ziva, are you alright?” He watched her carefully, waiting until she looked at him to remove his hand.

“Yes.” She responded without a moment’s hesitation. He does not deserve this worry, she thought, and pushed a bright smile out onto her face. He couldn’t help it; he smiled right back at her. He was so easy to fool.

“I’m going to get myself another drink then. If you need anything just shout.” Thoroughly convinced that Ziva was not going to need tending to again, he stood up and headed back to the refreshments, grabbing another and downing both glasses easily.

Ziva returned to people watching. It had been what she did in her spare time in the past few months. Being alone in the streets of Israel, with no one scrutinising her, taught her that people were by far the most interesting thing to observe. Each person walked a certain way, wore a certain thing, talked a certain way, all for very particular reasons. A thought had struck Ziva one day in Israel as she sat and observed an old man wearing sunglasses hobbling down the dirt road being led by a little boy speaking in rapid Hebrew. The old man would nod every once in a while, and the little boy kept going on and on about what the olive trees would look like once they got to the orchard. That thought stuck in her mind: every life mattered. She spent the rest of the day lying on her straw mattress, staring at the ramshackle ceiling of her lowly apartment and fighting back the guilt that threatened to consume her.

Ziva continued to observe the crowd in front of her. She had dealt with the guilt already, made it her constant companion. There could be no sand to add to the wound.  
Until she saw them, and although sand did not grace her wound, salt certainly did.

He was pressed tightly against a petite blonde woman, their noses touching and eye contact intense. His perfect lips were moving, whispering words to her that made her plump mouth stretch into a grin before she smacked his arm. He cringed away from her playfully, green eyes alit with mischief.

_Tony._

No. This can’t be happening. He can’t be here, why would he be here? _Why?_ The thoughts in her head were threatening to claw their way out of her mouth while her heart ached with a familiar pull that she hadn’t felt since her departure. She didn’t belong here; she had to go.

Ziva stood up, searching frantically for Adam, ready to tell him that she wanted to leave; that she was not feeling well at all. He would rush her home at once, and worry over her until she told him she just needed some—

She sighed in irritation as she spotted Adam hanging onto a short brown haired woman who was chatting animatedly into his ear. He was drunk; _very_ drunk. Ziva wondered vaguely how many drinks he had consumed before realizing that she didn’t care; that she had never cared.

Adam was nothing to her. No matter how much Ziva wanted to believe that every kiss, every caress had meant something, he meant nothing to her. Her heart could not be given to him; it was already taken.

Ziva decided that if she was to survive the rest of the damn celebration, she would need some liquid courage. She quickly crossed to the refreshments, grabbing a glass as nonchalantly as her shaking hand could handle before retreating to the safety of her chair.  
It appeared that neither one of them had noticed her brief activity. Adam was now pressing his face into the woman’s cheek and she was giggling disgustingly. Tony was—

Staring right at her. Ziva almost dropped her glass.  
Those infuriating green oceans were engulfing her. The water was warm and welcoming, yet so angry. Waves crashed around her, each one striking her with more guilt and heartache than the last.

She was so lost in his eyes that she hadn’t even noticed that he had approached her; that he was now standing right in front of her.  
He broke their stare, glancing down at the wine glass dangerously close to slipping out of her grip.

“I didn’t know you liked Verdicchio.” A small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

He took the glass from her hand and gently set it on the table.

“Neither of us got the memo, it seems.” His voice was soft and his eyes flickered back up to hers. They only held one revelation: _you’re here_.

“So it seems.” Ziva watched as he seated himself in the chair where Adam had sat earlier.

They sat for what seemed to be an eternity, quietly watching every other couple continue to sway in drunken bliss.

“Are you here alone?” Tony asked, breaking their silence. His voice was still soft, gentle. Ziva glanced at him in her peripherals; he hadn’t turned away from the crowd either.

“No.”

Ziva heard him exhale sharply under his breath.

“Who?”

Should she tell him?  
No, it would hurt him more than anything.

“No one important.”

“Well, that would explain why you’re not dancing.”

This response obligated Ziva to turn toward him with slight irritation and amusement. She was met with an open and friendly green eyed gaze that made her heart melt.

“Even if he was, I would not be dancing with him.”

He raised an eyebrow at her reply.

“That bad?”

“I think it is not up to you to judge.”

He smirked and stood up, eyes alit with amusement.

“Dance with me.” He held out his hand.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Why?”

“So you can compare. We never got to finish the last one.” He represented his hand and smiled gently. An invitation.

Ziva glanced from his face to his hand and back, before sliding her hand into his and allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. The song had changed twice already, each successive song slower than the previous.

The way he held her close, gazing intently into her eyes, breathing the same air; memories from the last time threatened to take over her vision.

 _One day you will dance with a man worthy of your love_.

Ziva felt like her heart was being ripped to shreds. She began to pull him along, speeding up their dance, willing it to be over soon so she can spare him the pain she was going to inflict.

Suddenly, the hand at her waist wrapped around her and lifted her panicked self, placing her heeled feet gently onto his expensive italian dress shoes. She met his gaze in outrage, despairing at the thought of being even closer to him.

“You can’t make an objective call if you’re leading, Ziva.” Her name sounded like a sigh of relief coming from his lips.

She could feel his heart beat from the closeness of their dance. He moved slowly, careful not to displace her feet from on top of his.

Ziva knew he didn’t plan on letting her go any time soon. Didn’t he realise that she shouldn’t even be here? She should not have allowed him to see her, much less dive head first into dancing with him as if she had never—

Strong, familiar arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, crushing her to his chest. Her arms were pinned between their chests, rendering her unable to move. Tony tucked his chin over her shoulder and sighed, leaning his head into her neck. Ziva stood motionless in his embrace, stunned by his sudden act of affection. She was tense and knew he could tell; he rubbed one of his hands up and down her back in a gentle rhythm. His touch spoke of shared hotel rooms, of loud looks, of whispered moments in the dark.

For once in a lifetime, Ziva let herself relax. She laid her head against his shoulder, her nose pressed against his neck, breathing in the slightly musky yet clean scent that she only knew as Tony. This love would consume them, but enjoying a single moment, just a single moment, could not hurt them anymore than it already had.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic so please do leave some comments :)  
> Tiva is my otp btw... I miss Ziva so much T.T  
> bb come back...
> 
> Metukah - (Hebrew) sweetheart  
> Lo, todah - (Hebrew) no, thanks


End file.
